


Mothers and Daughters

by shimotsuki



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimotsuki/pseuds/shimotsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the conquest of Visping, Iselle sees her mother for the first time in months. But this new Ista is someone Iselle has never known.</p><p><span class="small">(Begun for the April Flowers event at the <b>chalion_ibra</b> community on LiveJournal; now complete.)</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mothers and Daughters

“And be careful to specify that his jurisdiction extends only over the district of Soriknet,” Iselle warned, “because I think his ambitions are greater than that. But there are many other men just as deserving as he, and there are only so many districts in Borasnen for me to distribute.”

“Very good, Royina,” said Learned Bonneret. He bowed to Iselle and to Betriz and returned to his own desk, in the antechamber of Iselle’s office, to compose the next in a long series of official letters.

Iselle took a moment to gaze out the window, at the sea glinting deep blue in the autumn sunshine. Bergon, who had grown up with the sea, had gallantly ceded this office on the outer wall of Visping’s castle keep to her. Iselle thought she would never tire of watching the waves change color under the sky.

Administrative decisions about the running of Visping and its territory, the former Roknari princedom of Borasnen, were much less compelling. But they were necessary, and so Iselle turned back to face the next sheaf of notes on her desk.

But then came the quick, light footsteps of a page in a hurry, and she looked up again.

“The Dowager Royina arrives!” cried the boy, slightly out of breath.

At last. Iselle had been expecting her mother’s party for days.

“Come on,” she whispered to Betriz, “let’s go and see!”

She pushed back her chair, all thoughts of Borasnen’s new provincar set firmly aside for the moment, and ran across the corridor into Bergon’s office, with Betriz right behind her. Bergon’s view of the castle courtyard might not be as picturesque as her view of the sea, but it certainly had its uses.

~ * ~

The royal offices were too high above the courtyard for Iselle to see faces, but the arrival of the Dowager Royina Ista’s party was unmistakeable, even just from the stir it was causing among the grooms and servants. The first through the gate was a solid dark figure that could only be Foix dy Gura, followed by two more soldier-brothers. After them came a woman with light hair and a thick gray traveling cloak, small in stature but sitting with the straight confident posture of someone in charge of things—

Her mother.

That was her _mother._

Iselle knew perfectly well that Ista wasn’t mad, not any more. That she had looked after the old Provincara for the last three years of her life, and had eventually taken over the management of the household at Valenda, if with the help of dy Ferrej. Iselle and her mother had exchanged letters, and had even spent a little time together around the time of her coronation and again right after Isara was born.

But Iselle hadn’t seen Ista since she had acquired her new status as a saint of the Bastard—a status that Iselle didn’t understand, not really, although Cazaril assured her adamantly that it was real.

This confidence—this sense of rightness in herself—that Ista seemed to have was something that Iselle had never seen in her mother, in all of her life.

The rest of the party had come through the gate by now. There was a fat man all in white, who must be the divine of the Bastard that her mother had written about. Iselle saw a slim girl with a long dark braid, and a short bandy-legged man, and two more soldier-brothers.

And a very tall man who slid off his horse with athletic grace and sped to the dowager royina’s side even faster than the castle groom with the mounting block. Iselle watched as her mother took the man’s hand and slid to the ground—and kept hold of that hand a few moments longer than she really needed to.

That must be—

“Lord Illvin dy Arbanos,” said Cazaril, coming up behind them at the window. “Chalion owes him much.”

Iselle nodded, absently. She had heard about this one’s role in the fight against the Jokonans, and his work as translator and negotiator on behalf of Chalion-Ibra in the months since. But apparently she hadn’t heard _everything_ about dy Arbanos.

~ * ~

When Iselle had first gone up to the Zangre as an appendix to poor Teidez’s household, Orico had not set eyes on them until his formal greeting at the court banquet. But this makeshift Chalionese garrison at Visping was not the noble court of Cardegoss, and Ista was hardly a half-remembered relative. Iselle had invited her mother to call on them now, in the royal apartments, during the hour before they had to dress for dinner.

This was Isara’s hour—Iselle and Bergon spent this time with their little daughter whenever they possibly could, bouncing her on their knees or singing little songs. Soon, Iselle thought with happy anticipation, she would be old enough for them to play games with her, or tell her stories. In any case, Isara would _not_ grow up with only a single memory of her father (Iselle could feel the weight of Ias’s hand on her head, hear the affection in his voice as he said _my girl,_ but that was all). She would _not_ grow up with much clearer memories of her nurse than of her own mother (though Iselle was always careful to remind herself that it wasn’t Ista’s fault if she had been unwell, if it was Nan dy Vrit whose voice she remembered singing to her of the bright shining stars and the laughter of the wind).

A soft knock sounded on the door, and Betriz poked her head inside. “The Dowager Royina is here.”

“Come in, Mother,” called Iselle.

The door opened wider, and Ista stepped through. Before she closed it again behind her, Iselle caught a glimpse of Betriz in the antechamber taking the slim dark girl under her wing.

“Welcome.” Iselle stood to greet her mother, and shifted her daughter in her arms so that Isara could see her grandmother.

“My Iselle,” said Ista warmly, catching her in a quick and unexpected embrace. She kissed Bergon on the cheek, and he returned the greeting with a smile. Then she cooed a little, and held out her hands to Isara. But the baby started to fuss, and turned away from the stranger, wrapping her arms around Iselle’s neck.

Ista smiled past her evident disappointment. “All right, little one,” she said, “we’ll try again when you’ve gotten used to me.”

She looked again at Iselle and then at Bergon, the smile a little brighter now. “Well done, taking Visping! Chalion and Ibra are in a better position than they have been for generations.”

They all seated themselves around the fire. “How has your journey been, lately?” Bergon asked.

“Never a dull moment.” Ista’s voice had a certain liveliness that was new to Iselle. “Just three days ago we found a demon that was riding a Roknari farmer’s sheepdog, and even Illvin had a bear of a time trying to convince the old man to let us remove it.”

Iselle felt slightly off balance. She had very little idea of what the day-to-day life of a saint of the Bastard even looked like. And, _Illvin._ “I—look forward to meeting Ser dy Arbanos.”

“Oh, yes,” said Ista happily, “I’ll have to introduce you to everyone! And that reminds me—I have a boon to beg of you and Bergon.”

“What is it?” Iselle was half curious and half cautious.

“My attendant, Liss.” Ista smiled fondly. “She’s a dear girl, and she suits me absolutely perfectly, but she was a courier before she came to me, you know.”

Iselle nodded. Cazaril had said something of the sort, when her mother first began to ride out on her hunt for demons.

“Could you make her a lady? _I_ don’t mind at all that she’s not, because she’s my _Liss._ But I think it bothers her on my account that she isn’t one, especially when we come among other lords and ladies. She has served me bravely and faithfully, even in the face of the impossible dangers on our pilgrimage last spring. And—it might be a good thing for her marriage prospects.”

Iselle nodded. “Of course.” This all sounded most sensible.

“Good, good.” Her mother beamed. “Thank you. She will be Sera Annaliss dy Teneret, then.”

“How old is she?” The girl must be young if she had been riding as a courier (and hoped to have marriage prospects).

“Well—” Ista calculated. “I suppose she’s only just a little younger than you.”

~ * ~

At dinner that evening, Iselle got her first good look at the new Lady Annaliss. She wore a dress made from fine fabric, but it was a simple shape, and even her hair was done in a simple style—the long braid had merely been coiled up and pinned on her head.

And Ista’s hair was done in exactly the same way, in stark contrast to the elaborate coiffures Iselle could remember her wearing to dinner at Valenda when she was well enough to appear.

Once, Iselle saw Liss come to stand behind Ista’s chair and lean down to whisper something in her ear. Ista nodded, and said a few words in reply. And then the two of them shared what could only be called a _giggle._

Iselle turned back to Marshal dy Palliar, seated at her side tonight, and forced herself to smile at the witty tale he was telling.

It was ridiculous even to consider that the royina of Chalion might be jealous of a country girl turned courier turned lady-in-waiting.

~ * ~

After the dinner, there was music, and dancing. Iselle danced the first set with Bergon, and then the two of them took advantage of the evening’s entertainment to wander through the room and make polite or friendly conversation with Marshal dy Palliar’s officers and other lords who had been granted new land in Borasnen, trying to assess the general mood.

And if Iselle, with Betriz by her side, found herself approaching a solitary Liss while Ista was dancing with dy Arbanos, well—maybe that was a coincidence.

“My lady royina,” said Liss, dropping an awkward but earnest curtsey. “I don’t know how to thank you for the honor you have given me.”

“It is I who should thank you, Lady Annaliss,” said Iselle, “for your loyal service to my mother.”

Liss’s eyes lit when Iselle spoke her new title. “When I rode into Valenda last spring, I had no idea how much my life was about to change.”

Iselle found herself wanting to smile in response to the girl’s open friendliness. “How did you come to serve my mother?”

“I’m still not quite sure how it all happened. I rode in with a message for the castle warder, and Royina Ista asked to have me sent up to speak with her. She took a liking to me, I guess. She asked a lot of questions about how I came to be a courier.” Liss gave a little shrug, and grinned. “But the first thing she told me about was you.”

“It was?” Iselle blinked at the girl, off balance yet again.

“‘My daughter is a great rider,’ she told me.” The grin came again. “I knew that already, of course. But I never thought I would meet you someday, myself.”

The dance ended, then, and dancers thanked their partners and dispersed through the room. Foix dy Gura appeared out of the crowd and bowed low. “My lady royina. I wonder if I might claim Lady Annaliss for the next set?”

“Certainly,” said Iselle, not missing the flush that warmed the girl’s cheeks when dy Gura tried out her new title, nor the intent look in his eyes when he bent over Liss’s hand. That was the marriage prospect right there, if she didn’t miss her guess.

“Let me see if Royina Ista needs me,” Liss began.

But a laughing Ista, arm in arm with dy Arbanos, joined them just in time to hear this. “No, go on, you two.” She gave dy Gura a little swat on the arm. “I’ll just dance with—Bergon! Dance this one with me?”

And so Liss floated away with dy Gura, and Ista sailed off with Bergon, and Iselle and Betriz were left standing with dy Arbanos.

He bowed deeply. “My lady royina, Lady dy Cazaril.”

“Welcome to Visping,” said Iselle politely. “I hope you will be comfortable during your stay here.”

He smiled, and Iselle noted the friendly crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Here was a man who smiled often.

“This may be a strange thing for someone to say to his royina...” He hesitated, and then forged ahead. “But I have heard so much about you from your mother that I almost feel I know you already.”

“Then you have the advantage of me,” said Iselle, somewhat drily. Gentle Betriz shot her a hint of a frown, but Iselle was unrepentant.

“Royina.” Dy Arbanos was entirely earnest now. “I beg you, please do not think that I intend the slightest disrepect to the memory of your royal father, or to you. Please know that your royal mother is very, very important to me.”

“That’s not—” Iselle had never even thought of her father, dead these seventeen years or so. “I can see how happy you make my mother, and I am glad for it.”

“But there is something else that worries you?” Dy Arbanos was perceptive indeed. And persistent.

“It’s only—” Iselle flushed, feeling childish. “It seems that she has found a new family, and a new life, with all of you.” _And I never had her for myself before, either._ “It’s something to get used to. That’s all.”

Dy Arbanos’s eyes searched hers. Iselle raised her chin and looked back.

“There’s something I’ve learned, in my life,” he said, slowly. “Love isn’t like jewels, or gold, where there’s only so much one can share before it’s used up. There is _always_ more love to go around.”

~ * ~

Iselle always looked in on Isara one last time before she retired to her own chambers for the night. Sometimes her daughter would be awake, wanting one more cuddle and a song before she fell asleep.

Tonight, Iselle pushed the nursery door open and slipped silently inside. The nurse looked up from her needlework with a smile and a bob of her head, but she said nothing aloud, because Isara was indeed awake.

 _“Hush, my dear, close your eyes;  
Bright, shining stars have filled the skies.”_

Iselle froze.

It was the lullaby from her earliest memories. The very voice.

But it wasn’t Nan dy Vrit, after all.

 _“The laughing wind will sing to you  
And keep you safe the whole night through.”_

It was Ista who sat rocking with a sleepy baby cradled in her lap.

 _Mother._ Iselle felt her lips shape the word, silently.

 _Mama._

Ista looked up, then, with a smile full of pride and love.

All at once Iselle could see, like ribbons unrolling, how many years they had left (gods willing) to get to know one another.

Lord dy Arbanos, she decided, was exactly right.

~ _fin_ ~


End file.
